The Uncle From America
by ShunKickShunKers
Summary: Set at the end of third book. Hermione's parents died in an accident. Now she has to deal with the fact her father was not who he pretended to be and an uncle she had no idea existed (and neither did he).
1. Chapter 1

**Another idea that had been in my mind lately. It should only be three or four (five max) chapters long. I won't be updating frequently, but I hope you'll still enjoy the story :)**

**Neither Harry Potter nor the Avengers are mine. Shame :'(**

* * *

**The Uncle From America**

**Part 1**

Hermione pov

It started as an ordinary morning, but soon enough, it would turn into a morning Hermione would, unfortunately, never forget.

The last semester at Hogwarts had ended two weeks ago, and holidays had gone smoothly so far. The young witch was eating her customary late breakfast/early lunch –no school meant sleeping in, an activity her parents indulged the first three weeks before pulling her out from bed at an earlier time.

_(It also helped that same parents worked those three first weeks, so she wouldn't have to face her mom's raised eyebrow and her dad's side smirk when she headed downstairs at past eleven)._

The TV was on, and she glanced at it just in time to see a new warning message concerning Sirius Black. The criminal was said to still be on the run.

_(Hermione never told her parents she had met him in person, and that he was in fact innocent, but she doubted they would understand. They would hear "criminal, daughter, alone" and probably, much to her horror, pull her back from Hogwarts. So she had kept this little detail from them, just like every other little mortal detail she didn't mention since she befriended Harry-trouble-magnet. Hermione loved her parents to death, but they were her parents.)_

And then, there was a special interruption about a car accident that had occurred barely earlier in the morning. Apparently, a drunk driver had slammed into another car, pushing it off the road and into a lamppost, killing himself and the passengers of the other vehicle. Hermione winced, switched channel and kept eating her biscuit. It wasn't that the news didn't upset her, but she figured she deserved a break from having to hear about danger and accidents. She had, after all, had to face a werewolf barely a month prior.

The breakfast done, Hermione dropped her dishes in the sink –she'd clean them later –and returned to her bedroom, firmly decided to read a book. She was still pondering on which one to choose –wizard or muggle? Novel or else?- when the bell at the front door rang. With a heavy sigh, she returned downstairs, checked through the peephole and recognized Larry Harrison.

Harrison was a lawyer and one of her father's acquaintances. They weren't exactly friends, but they knew each other well enough for him to join them for diner once in a while. He was a polite and discreet man who always acted amiably with her, so she wasn't afraid to open the door to him.

Today though, he looked quite grim. And there were two policemen with him in the background. Hermione's heartbeat increased under the sudden worry.

"Miss Granger," he greeted, and his voice was all too quiet at solemn.

"If you are looking for my parents, they are at work," Hermione said, hoping this wasn't about what she thought it'd be.

"I was looking for you, actually. There had been an accident earlier today," her thoughts briefly remembered the two cars, but she brushed that thought away, it couldn't have been- "a drunk driver hit them on their way." Oh no. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, your parents didn't make it."

* * *

The rest of the day and the following week seemed to pass in a blur. She could barely remember what happened; only that she had turned into an automaton and hadn't dared make a move she hadn't been ordered to. Mr. Harrison took care of most of the procedures, asking her questions only when necessary. He also organized the ceremony, helped with the details and the eulogy and supported her when she stood alone before her parents' caskets.

Hermione had no idea what she was going to do. None of her parents had siblings and her grand-parents had died long ago. Her parents had money in an account for her, but nothing she couldn't spend before her seventeenth birthday -whenever she needed money to buy something, they'd give her some themselves -and no will had been left behind. Mr. Harrison had been trying to break the agreement with the banks so she could have a little something to rely on, but he did tell her not to get her hopes up. So far, she had to decide what to do starting the following year. She needed to find a place to live during the summer –she couldn't stay in the house, she didn't have the financial means to keep it and although she could pretend her parents were off on a business trip most of the time, she knew it was a matter of time before she reached her breaking point and slammed the door behind.

Mr. Harrison had let her understand she would probably end up in foster care sooner or later. She was still a minor, and he couldn't even be sure she'd be sent to the same school in September. Hermione could probably ask for a magical guardian, but the letters she had sent to Ron were left unanswered and as supportive as Harry was trying to be through his letters, he couldn't help her either. How he still managed to send Hedwige over in spite of his uncle's surveillance was beyond her, but she was grateful he had.

Three days after her parents' funeral, Mr. Harrison came knocking at her door again.

"Something has come up, regarding your guardianship," he said and waited for her to invite him in. Hermione opened the door a little wider and they both stepped in the living room. He was carrying a large file with papers that made a loud sound when he laid them on the table.

"My assistant was going through your parents' file, and he found out that your father actually has a younger brother." Hermione blinked in surprise. Harrison went on: "His name is Clinton Barton, and he lives in America. I assume you never heard of him?" The girl shook her head. The man nodded. "I thought as much. Primary research says he is a man with a…suspicious background, probably the reason why your father never spoke of him. The cabinet had to contact him of course. He is on his way to England and will likely arrive tomorrow."

Hermione nodded. Her father had a brother. He had a brother, her uncle, who was likely a criminal. She found it ironic. Now Harry and she had something in common. Aside from both being orphaned.

"The files are old, which is why I didn't find them right away," he sounded vaguely annoyed by this. "But your father appointed him as your guardian if anything was to happen to him or Vivian." Something akin regret lingered in his eyes. "I am sorry Miss Granger. There is little I can do for this situation."

"I understand," she replied quietly.

"Your parents had no fortune, but they earned enough money to make people envious." He added. "Please understand I want to protect your interests, Miss Granger, and I will do my best to make the odds favorable to you."

"I do, thank you," she said, staring at the table. So that man would only be there for her parents' money? Where did that leave her then? Would he take her in? Would he bring her back with him? Or will he just take his share and leave her behind? She didn't want to move to the US, but she didn't want to be left alone either. Maybe, depending on the type of man her uncle was, they could find an arrangement?

The next day, she went to Mr. Harrison's cabinet. When Mr. Harrison conducted business, he did it in an adjacent spacious room to make his client feel comfortable. He had offered to let her stay in his office and crack the door open for her to overhear the conversation he would have with Mr. Barton before they were introduced. Hermione liked the idea (_she would have eavesdropped anyway)_ and had agreed.

It was fifteen to two when she pushed the front door open and entered the office. Harrison stood up to greet her and led her to a small but comfortable couch. She was staring outside the window when she saw the black sports car park in the alley across the street and the two people stepped out.

The driver was a woman, a redhead with long hair loose over her shoulders. She was dressed in a black pair of jeans and a brown jacket and half of her face was covered with large sunglasses. Hermione couldn't distinguish her features, but she figured she must be beautiful. The man accompanying her made her take a second glance. He was wearing sunglasses and a sleeveless shirt, showing off the huge muscles of his arms. And even though Hermione was just a fourteen year old recently, she couldn't help but blush slightly; she _was_ entering puberty after all, she was entitled to look.

The glimpse barely lasted a second, for he grabbed a jacket and slid it on nearly immediately. Hermione watched the two cross the street and head towards the building, and she briefly wondered what had brought them here. Were they a couple? Were they married? Were they adulterers or friends or family? Given the car, they were probably well-off. Or at least the woman seemed to be. The man, according his clothing, probably not. Or maybe he just didn't want to bother dressing up even to meet a notary?

Hermione heard them enter, walk to the front desk. Then she turned her attention back to the street. Her "uncle" should be arriving anytime now, if he was punctual. She waited a few moments and heard the door of Harrison's office open and voices enter. She raised an eyebrow in wonder and crept closer.

"_-sn't expecting you accompanied, Mr. Barton." _

"_This is my partner, Miss Rushman._" A man's voice replied abruptly._ "Can we get this done?" _

"_Clint,_" a feminine voice spoke, a clear warning in her tone. Chairs were moved and papers opened. Hermione blinked in shock. Was the man who had just entered her uncle? But he didn't even look like her father! And she had been _checking him out_? Urgh, creepy.

Before Harrison could speak, the man she could only assume to be her uncle spoke again:

"_Just so we're clear, I want nothing that sonovabitch left behind."_ Hermione nearly gasped in shock. How dare that man insult her father! _"If he was married, if his wife's still alive or if she had any relatives at all, give it to them." _

The teenager frowned. That was an odd request. Usually, people were glad to hear they'd inherit a little something from a deceased relative, even if they hadn't been in good terms.

"_Mr and Mrs Granger had no family," _Harrison declared firmly. Hermione blinked, what about her? She suddenly wondered if her uncle even knew about her.

"_They were in debt?" _

"_No, sir." _

"_Then I'll leave it to you. The furniture he had, his house, his car, heck his goldfish can go to Goodwill or Red Cross for all I care. I only came because I have business to attend in London." _

"_Clint, you promised. Calm down." _The woman spoke again, this time with soft authority. Hermione heard someone breathing hard and silence settled again. She was still a little unsettled by the earlier outburst from her 'uncle' to care if he was the one upset. _"I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison. The subject of his brother is always tough on him." _

"_You're not my goddamn psychiatrist, Rushman. Drop it." _Yups, defintively Barton.

"_Excuse-me,"_ Mr Harrison interrupted. _"I know this is probably none of my business, but Mr. Granger was a friend of mine and a good man." _Someone snorted at these words, and Hermione felt anger rising within again. _"I cannot understand why you carry such despise towards him, even after his death." _

Hermione inhaled sharply and waited. The response came in a wording that resembled to a _growl_.

"_That so-called good man,"_ Barton started, _"stabbed me when I was sixteen because I caught him stealing money from the circus receipts. He stabbed me, his own_ brother,_ and left me behind for dead. And that was the first time. Second time we crossed roads, he was working for a local mobster and tried to shoot me. It doesn't surprise me that he's changed his name and moved to England, because if I had found him first-"_

That was more than Hermione could bear. She pushed the door open, ran into the room and with anger clouding her eyes and her hand itching for her wand to hex him, she yelled:

"My father was NOT a murderer!"

The three people in the room turned around to stare at her. Harrison looked angry and annoyed at her interruption, but thankfully remained quiet. The two newcomers faced her with equally unsurprised stares.

Hermione quickly completed the portrait she had made of the woman from behind the , bright green eyes, beautiful features and from what she could see even from her seated position, a body to die for. The woman -Rushman, was it?- raised an eyebrow in her direction and the corner of her lips tilted upwards, as if the teenager was an amusing distraction. Deciding not to dwell too much on the first unknown quantity, she directed her eyes towards her remaining living relative.

Clinton Barton, from up close, still looked nothing like her father. Where her father had been tall and thin, Barton looked smaller and larger, but in a much more muscular way. His eyes were sharper too, and they maybe had the same shade of blue. But her father's had been warm, and his were cold and calculating. She suddenly wondered why he didn't look the slightest surprised by her arrival. Really, after three years with a trouble magnet, she should have known something was up.

Still, it caught her entirely off guard when Clinton stood up, walked towards her and offered her a half-smile.

"Hello Hermione, it's nice to finally meet you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Ooookei I did not expect such a response for this O.o There are so many ways this fic can go, I hope the direction I took will be satisfying ^^ This story happens about 2 or 3 years before the Avengers events, so I'm not following the Harry Potter verse timeline. **

**Thanks to all reviewers, and to:**

**Lala**: Thank you for giving it a chance :)

**Guest 1**: Thank you! I hope you'll enjoy where it goes :)

**Christina**: Thank you!

**Bex**: :)

**Carly**: Thank you! I hope you'll like where this is heading :)

**Guest 2**: Hawkeye's past is more or less canon (or so I've read on wiki). Thank you :)

**Guest 3**: Thank you!

**L. Nott**: Gracias! Espero que le guste el nuevo capitulo ^^

**Unbeta-ed work, so all mistakes are mine :)**

* * *

_New York, 48 hours earlier…_

"Barton, you are expected in debrief room number 3."

The archer blinked and turned around to see Maria waiting for him on the other side of the shooting range.

"I am?" he repeated. Last news, he hadn't been convoked for anything.

"You are. Something came up and D-team is requested."

"Seriously?"

"Does it look like I'm joking?"

Clint hesitated, then shrugged.

"Nobody knows when you are. Except maybe Tasha."

Maria rolled her eyes and made a 'come on' gesture with her hand. He put down his bow, folded it in its case and followed her. After the huge mess they've left in Budapest, Delta Strike team was wisely given some time off to let them recover. That was the official reason. In truth, they were asked to lay low for a while, because the WSC was _not_ happy with them. So that Maria of all people (wasn't she supposed to be on the Helicarrier by the way?) came for him left him perplexed. They entered the debrief room where Natasha was already waiting. Coulson wasn't there, which surprised him.

"Phil is late?" he asked, glancing at his partner. Natasha shrugged.

"I am your handler on this one." Maria interrupted and added before either could comment. "It's not a high risk mission, just an infiltration and information withdrawal. You are expected to find names of the leaders of a rising drug ring in England, the Nirvens, and forward this intel to another team who will dismantle them."

"Are you serious?" Clint blurted, annoyed. He had vaguely heard about the Nirvens from a colleague the previous month. Considering what Delta Strike team faced on their usual mission, this was way below their standards. "They're sending us on rookie missions now? Are they that scared of us being bored?"

Natasha didn't comment, but given her barely noticeable scowl, she agreed with him. Maria didn't take the bait and slid two files in their direction.

"You weren't chosen by chance," she added dryly. "Some members of this ring work in a small notary cabinet, and we were given the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the building. A man suspected to belong to the Nirvens died in a car accident recently." She turned towards Clint. "Does the name Bernard Granger ring a bell?"

The archer frowned and picked up the folder.

"Not a th-"

He paused when he opened the first page and fell on familiar blue-grey eyes staring back at him. Blue-grey eyes he hadn't seen in _years_.

"Then maybe you have heard about his real name." Maria went on imperturbably, in spite of Clint's uncompleted sentence and Natasha's stare of disbelief. "Meet Bernard Granger, a.k.a Barney Barton."

_Present time._

"Hello Hermione, nice of you to join us."

The teenage girl stared at him abashed, and Clint took in how exhausted and lost she looked. Her parents' death must have hit her hard; she was only fourteen after all and from what he had read from SHIELD's report and her profile, she had had a good and loving life. For all his past mistakes, Barney seemed to have done right by his daughter.

When Hermione didn't move to take his hand, he dropped it and added:

"My name's Clint, which you must know by now. And sorry I didn't visit earlier, someone forgot to mention I had a niece." He sent a glare to Harrison for good measure. The notary shifted uncomfortably on his chair. "Where you hoping I'd never find out?"

Harrison's mouth thinned into hard line.

"You have a very debatable past, Mr. Barton," he spoke eventually. "And like I said, Mr. Granger was a good friend of mine, I wanted to protect his daughter."

"Hey Rushman, how high is your bullshit meter right now?"

His partner gave him a sweet smile. So she had smelt something fishy too. He turned around and faced Hermione once again. According to the files they had read, Barney had kept his wife and daughter out of the business. The girl was, in common agreement, not to be involved in this. Barton was in charge of pulling her out of harm if she happened to be there and let Natasha handle the interrogation. If anything turned sour, Maria was just around the bloke. Clint suspected the Deputy Director had brought her trustful tablet with her, not expecting to be called in. And Clint suspected she was probably right to do so.

"So Hermione," Clint started. "It seems that _my_ lawyer," he nodded towards Natasha, and Harrison paled drastically –apparently, he hadn't expected him to bring 'legal' back-up. "And your notary are going to have a little talk. I've seen a coffee place across the street when I came by. Would you like to have a drink with me so we can get to know each other a bit better?" She hesitated, but he could read curiosity in her eyes. "There'll be lots of people there. You're allowed to scream if I make any indecent move." He added halfway to joke, halfway to reassure her.

The girl glanced at Harrison briefly. Her hand made an interesting move towards her pocket, like she was searching for a weapon, and the gesture seemed to reassure her.

"Fine." She replied. "I'll pick up my stuff."

He waited until she left the room to ask Harrison:

"Am I her legal guardian?"

The guy who had called him to 'deliver' the news of his brother's death hadn't mentioned anything else but a will. Harrison nodded reluctantly. Clint bit back a groan; now that was something he suspected, but he had hoped Barney hadn't been stupid enough to leave her with him. Had he been _that_ confident he wouldn't hurt his daughter? Either his brother had believed him to be an idiot, either he had faith in his goodwill. Clint inched towards the former, because Barney was a sneaky one, and he wouldn't put past the hypothesis that he had survived or staged his accident, especially if he belonged to a new drug ring and SHIELD was after them.

"I'm getting too old for this shit," he mumbled tiredly and glanced one last time at his partner: "You'll be all right?"

Natasha gave him *that* look. He waited for Hermione and opened the door for her on the way out.

The coffee wasn't crowded, but had just enough people to put his niece at ease. Hermione chose a table near the exit and in full view of the street. Not Clint's favorite place, but he'd make an exception this one time. She ordered a Sprite and he a black coffee. He hadn't slept much during the plane trip, making sure to catch up with his brother and his family's every move. The only oddity that concerned him so far was her school (_private school, the file mentioned. Great, now _which_ private school?_) but that was a detail he could clear with her later. Right now, the girl had seen enough for the past few days, he didn't want to push her too much and hear her expectations. While they waited for their order, they stood in silence facing each other. Clint waited for her to take the lead.

"How did you know I was next door?" Hermione eventually asked.

It amused him a bit, the way she wasn't scared of facing him. Clint briefly wondered if she had met anyone like him before.

"The door was slightly opened." He admitted. "I wasn't sure you'd be the one behind."

"So a door left ajar is a sign of eavesdropping?" She concluded and frowned judgmentally. "What kind of life do you live?"

Clint chuckled at that.

"If your lawyer wanted to respect his customer's confidentiality, he would have made sure all doors were locked." The waiter brought their drinks. Clint swiftly changed subject before she could ask again about his profession. "So where do you live right now?"

It successfully distracted her. She looked down and tightened her fists.

"At home."

That surprised him.

"Really? I thought you'd already be placed in foster care or with your mom's relatives."

"How can you say that!" she spat angrily. Clint raised his hands in defense.

"Whoah cool down little lady. I'm just curious because when my- our parents –your grand-parents died, the social services came to pick us up straight ahead."

"Mr. Harrison made it so I could stay a while longer," she argued, then frowned. "Your parents died when you were young?"

Clint briefly wondered what Barney had told her daughter about their parents. He suddenly wondered if she even knew he had existed at all, and what she had been told about him.

"Your dad never spoke much of his past?"

Hermione grimaced slightly.

"He said his parents died when he was in his twenties, that I would have loved to meet them had they been alive." Pause. "He never mentioned you."

"I can't figure out why." The archer muttered. "Our father was an abusive drunk who loved hitting anything that ran by. Mother stopped trying to cover for us after a while." He muttered bitterly and Hermione opened her eyes wide in surprise. "Barney…" Clint closed his eyes half a second. "Barney was a good brother back in those days. I don't remember much, I was maybe five or six. But I remember looking up to him, and him protecting me. Father ran his truck in a tree. Mother was on the passenger seat, and neither made it." Ironical ending, Clint supposed. "We were placed in foster care for a few years, and then Barney and I ran off to the circus. We stayed there a while. When he left…" his voice trailed off and he shrugged. "You heard that part. I haven't seen him since then."

Hermione took a few sips of her drink, her eyes dragging into the street, back to the small building where they had come from. Clint let her take her time; he wasn't quite sure she believed him anyway.

"How did you know I existed?" she suddenly asked.

"Thanks to Natalie." He replied. "When I got the call, since the guy was slightly unwilling to give out information over the phone, I asked her to run a research on whether it was worth coming over. And I wasn't lying back there; I really don't want anything of what Barney left behind. I just wanted to make sure you'd be in a good place. Just because I hated Barney doesn't mean I will hold a grudge against his daughter."

Wait, maybe that was why Barney had made him her legal guardian.

Hermione stared at him suspiciously.

"What is it you do alrea-"

Clint didn't hear the end of her sentence; his eyes were already focused on a group of four that had just entered the coffee place. Three men, one woman. One of the men discreetly turned the door panel 'close' while the two others headed towards the bar. The woman walked in their direction, aiming a seductive smile at him. She was hot, Clint admitted. But he was definitively taken with a spider that would live up to her name if he even _dared_ consider giving the newcomer a second glance.

And even so, that group screamed trouble.

"You're done with your drink?" he asked Hermione, looking away from the woman but keeping her and her companions in his sight. The teen glared at him, no doubt upset upon realizing he hadn't been listening to her. "Cause we're leaving _now_."

The girl didn't have time to protest though, the unknown woman suddenly grabbed the teenager's collar and pulled her up, a knife in the other hand.

"No-one moves!" she shouted as her three companions pulled out guns in turn. "This is-"

She never finished her sentence.

_20 minutes later… _

"_A hold-up? you got caught in a hold up?" _

Hill's voice was laced with shock and disbelief, probably because she couldn't fathom Delta Strike team's luck (or lack of luck). Clint could sympathize, he never wanted to have to kick four wannabes bad guys' asses the day he was finally meeting with blood relatives. Fortunately, Hermione got knocked out early, the woman hostage-taker having dropped her against the chair after being hit in the face by Clint's coffee mug. The three others –amateurs- had been so stunned to encounter resistance that they barely put up a fight when he came after them.

"A pathetic attempt of a hold-up," Clint corrected. He could picture Maria rubbing her temples to soothe an upcoming headache.

"_Do I have to pull my badge?" _

"It's fine; I left the premises before they could identify me clearly."

"_And what about the Granger girl?"_

Clint glanced over his shoulder; Hermione was still lying unconscious on the back seat of Natasha's car.

"She's fine." He hoped so. "So what next?"

"_Go to the Granger's house,_" Maria ordered. _"I'll pick up Natasha on the way out and join you there." _

Clint wanted to protest, but Maria hung up before he could open his mouth. With one heavy sigh, he turned the engine on and drove off to find his brother's place. He knew the address of course and arrived there in a short time (_whether he'd get a serious slap on the writs for the speed tickets and nearly driving on the wrong side of the road or not remained to be seen, there _was_ a reason why Natasha drove most of the time)._ Hermione was still out, probably because she was as exhausted as she looked. No neighbors glanced from the window when he carried her out from the back seat and into the house (_the spare key was always hidden under the flower pot, go figure_), which he considered a win.

He carried her to room and dropped her gently on her bed. She didn't even stir, which only half surprised him; she still looked exhausted even in her sleep. Clint watched her a moment, wondering what they were going to do next. Then, he turned his attention to her room. He had always noticed, people's rooms were always a giveaway of their personality. Hermione's was in between messy and tidied-up. The floor was clean, but books, parchments and quills and other odd stuff he hadn't expected to find in Barney's daughter's room piled up in every available surface. He stepped closer to the nearest pile and checked the titles. Potions, charms, history of magic…Clint smirked. It seemed like the kid had a serious thing for magic-related stuff.

A book about to fall off the desk caught his attention. He checked out the title: 'Hogwarts, a History'. _Odd name_, he thought, picking it up the book and going through the first pages. It resembled any good old history book he might have found in a high-school, with texts, history of the place, pictures and –Wait a sec; were the images…

The archer blinked a few times and stared at the portrait of a man occupying half the page. The man stared back, smiled widely and waved his hand.

Clint immediately shut the book close and stared back at the girl, still asleep on the bed.

_What the hell was that?_

* * *

**Till next time :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**First, thank you for all the reviews! I'm really not used to get so many, so if I missed one or two (or replied twice), sorry ^^". The story is still heading in someplace vague and indistinct (and I realize will contain a bit more than 5 chapters), so I hope you'll keep liking the path its following ^^"  
**

**Thanks to:**

** : **el capitulo fue acabado cuando has publicado tu ultima review, así esta ha actualizado rápido ^^ Espero que tu encantas el nuevo! (Mi español no esta increíble, siento ^^")

**Guest 1**: eh, who knows?

**Guest 2:** you're welcome :)

**Quaff:** Thank you!

**Guest 3:** that's the game unfortunately. Thank you for your patience ^^

**Guest 4:** incredibly ironic you said that…I'll let you read.

**Guest 5:** Thank you!

**Guest 6:** Oooh someone's got a full plot in mind :) I'm glad you're enjoying this ^^ hope you'll like what's coming next!

**Guest 7:** glad you like it :)

**Unbeta-ed work, so all mistakes are mine ^^"**

* * *

**The Uncle From America**

**3**

_Hermione pov_

Hermione opened her eyes and immediately felt the harsh pain run through her head. She moaned and lifted her hand towards its origin, somewhere over her right ear, like she'd hit something hard-

A warm, wet tongue lavished her cheeks with attention.

"Crookshanks!" she protested, waving her hand to shoo the cat away. It meowed disapprovingly and jumped off her bed, sneaking out by the half-open window she opened earlier. The girl watched his fluffy tail disappear in the bushes and shook her head in disbelief. She loved her cat, really, but sometimes it acted so much like a…like a cat! Especially when they were home. Back at Hogwarts, Crookshanks had the whole castle to wander through. Here its domain was limited. Perhaps waking her up, leaving fur on her clothes and bringing back dead mice (_her mother nearly fainted once_) was its way of getting back at her? Although she had read that this kind of behavior was a normal show of affection for a _normal_ cat. But since Crookshanks was a half-kneazle, shouldn't he behave differently?

Something moved downstairs. Hermione froze at the sound. A small part of her suddenly wished the past week had actually been her imagination and her parents were coming back from work.

"_An owl? What the fuck's an owl doing here in daylight?"_

Her hopes were crushed right away and she shut her eyelids tight to avoid a rush of tears. She recognized the voice belonging to her uncle.

_Wait_, she thought, opening her eyes again just as fast, did he say '_owl'_?

She jumped out her bed, still rubbing the back of her head to soothe the pain. One last check that her wand was still in her pocket and she carefully headed downstairs. She stopped inches from the doorframe where she could overhear people talking:

"-plain later. Just keep 'pigeon carrier' in mind." An unknown, amused voiced spoke up.

"Just sayin' are they trained?" came her uncle's reply. "And isn't that against animal rights?"

"You think about owl's rights rather than the fact they are used as messengers?" The same unknown –female voice –replied.

"I'm less freaked out by owls delivering mail than live pictures in magic history books, so I'll dwell on animal rights right now, thank you."

Hermione stepped a little closer and peeked inside. Clint was standing on a side of the room, eying warily something out of her sight. A second later, he noticed her presence.

"Hello Hermione. Come in." He said, his face suddenly blank. That expression –or lack of- reminded her of when Harry was struggling to deal with particularly nasty news. And just like that, she realized he must have seen her stuff from Hogwarts spread around her bedroom and figured out she wasn't quite normal. Hermione swallowed nervously, and stepped in the living-room. There was a familiar white owl set on the couch's armchair, Hedwig's favorite spot whenever she came to deliver letters, and an unknown woman petting it. A brunette, tall and thin and wearing a business-like suit. Her steel-blue eyes set on the teenager and she smiled in a friendly way.

"Hello Hermione. Does your head still hurt?"

The teenager reflexively made a brief move towards the sore spot, but kept her eyes on the stranger. Hedwige didn't seem bothered by her presence, eyes closed in approval and demanding more attention. The owl's ease reassured Hermione somehow.

"I'm better. What happened?"

"You fell on your head and lost consciousness. Clint brought you back home. He tumbled upon your stuff and I believe he has a few questions for you."

"I can speak for my own goddamn self, Hill." He nearly slammed the 'History of Hogwarts' on the table and slid it towards Hermione. "Why in hell are pictures moving in that thing? What's the whole deal with the magic theme?"

His voice, a pitch higher than usual, and his tense body language unsettled her. Hermione suddenly remembered he was probably a lot more used –and prone- to violence than she, and unless she found herself in a life or death situation, she wasn't allowed to use magic.

"You're scaring the kid, Barton," the unknown woman said dryly.

"Don't tell me you're not freaked out by this!" he protested, pointing at the book like he'd point at a venomous snake. The brunette shrugged.

"I have the same in my library."

Both uncle and niece stared at her in surprise, the first for the unexpected revelation, the second for what that implied. And Hermione nearly slapped herself for not realizing that the woman had known about Hedwige and owl post all along. It had become such a natural occurrence at home, she hadn't thought odd that the woman accepted that fact so easily.

"Seriously Hill, you better have a goddamn good explanation for all this shi-"

The stranger –Hill –suddenly pulled out a wand from her sleeve and waved it towards Barton. The man's mouth shut close on its own accord as he stared at them in shock. The brunette turned back towards her.

"You have no idea how many times I wished I could have done that earlier." She said deadpan, then introduced herself: "Maria Hill. Your uncle and I work in the same company. Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Hermione replied warily, eyeing her then her uncle again. Barton struggled trying to forcefully open his mouth with his hands. It didn't work. "Are you going to leave him like this?" Hermione asked. Hill glanced at the man, who glared at her in return.

"Unfortunately, you're right, this is not productive," she admitted and waved her wand towards Barton again. The man, now able to speak, glowered at her, torn between anger and fear.

"What the _HECK_ was that?" he demanded, eyes lingering on her wand.

"That," Hill replied, putting back the wand in her sleeve –Hermione caught the edge of a wand holster. "Was magic. Now please sit, I believe we have things to talk about."

Barton didn't bulge, his eyes drilling holes in the other woman's skull.

"Sit _now_ or _I_ will make you sit."

Hermione watched a handful of emotions run over Clint's face and he reluctantly pulled a chair.

"Take a deep breath and calm down." He obeyed, his eyes set on her. "I swear I won't use it on you if you keep calm." Hill went on calmly. The man didn't relax but he did appear slightly less nervous. Slightly. He actually looked like a man obeying to orders out of habit. Hermione vaguely wondered if this woman was his boss.

"So, magic exists." He said. Nod. "And you never bothered, I don't know, telling us?"

"That's why 0-8-4 exists, Barton." Hill replied dryly. The man glared harder. "And it's level 9 classification."

"There's a _level 9_?" he repeated, either in disbelief or anger, or both.

"What is this-" Hermione started, but wasn't given the chance to continue.

"We work for a high-profile security company." Hill interrupted, turning back her attention to the teenager. "Your uncle is one of our best agents."

"And what if I had met a witch on the job?" Barton grumbled, still sending daggers at the woman. He seemed to be recovering from the shock fast enough. "Can I blame my 2 per cent failure on that?"

"I'm in charge of magical affairs." The brunette went on, ignoring the man with an impressive cool. "I am here because your uncle had no knowledge of the magical world beforehand."

"Because you decided not to warn-" Hill raised an eyebrow at him. Barton rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll shut up."

"Actually, now is the time you step in. This is between you and your niece. I'm just here for the paperwork and make sure you don't cause a diplomatic incident on English soil."

"Hey that time wasn't _my_ fault!"

Hill raised an eyebrow again, and he shut up, again. Hermione seriously considered asking how she did it because she was ninety-nine per cent sure magic wasn't involved.

"If you need to deal with anything concerning magical administration, call me. I'll be in the kitchen to fix some food, if that's all right with you." the brunette said, turning back to the teenager. Hermione would have rather have the presence of a witch in the room, but she did need to sort things out with her uncle sooner than later. Hill walked out, not before sending a warning stare at her colleague, and left them alone.

Barton and she eyed each other warily.

"I'm not any different than a muggl- I mean a normal human." Hermione said eventually. She could do this. Hill was in the other room in case the situation turned badly, and the man appeared cooled enough. "Just add the magic part."

Barton snorted.

"_Just_ the magic part. I can't believe Maria…" He left his voice trail off, still digesting the news. "How did Barney take it?"

"He was surprised at first, not in a good way." Hermione admitted. "But mom was proud and I think he got used to the idea." Her father hadn't looked extremely thrilled, but the resilience had slowly melted and when she had returned at the end of her first year, he seemed to have accepted the situation.

"Hum." Barton merely grunted, and right when she thought he'd leave the room, he muttered: "Don't mind me, it's just…I mean, I never thought…"

"It's fine," Hermione hurriedly waved away his sentence. "I don't expect you to –eh –acknowledge that right away. If you need time-"

"I'll come around." He assured her, and she hoped he was right. "Just –no funky stuff around me for a while, okay? I might get jumpy." He offered her an odd, not quite reassuring smile. "You don't want me jumpy. I might hurt you accidentally."

"I'm not allowed to use magic out of school," Hermione pointed, hoping it would reassure him. She wasn't sure how to interpret his last words. Was he often under attack? Did he use to be? If he worked in security, maybe he was, but frequently enough to be jumpy around a teenager? Really, what kind of life did he live?

"Good. I mean, okay." The subject of magic still put him ill-at-ease. She didn't blame him. "I'll just, uh, forget the _magic_ part for now. So, uh, why don't we just…" he motioned the couch across him. Hermione followed his instruction and sat down. "So, are you returning to your school in September? Or," he glanced at the corridor Hill had taken to head to the kitchen. "Or do you want to go to an American school? I'm gonna be honest, I'd rather you stay an intern. Sometimes I get to leave for months because of the job, and I'd rather not leave you alone at home."

"I'd rather stay," she replied, slightly relieved. He didn't sound like he'd object her returning to Hogwarts. "And I can take care of everything that concerns magic. I mean, I might need a signature or your authorization as my guardian, and I'll have to return to Diagon Alley to buy my furniture, but I can handle that." She added quickly when he looked twitchy.

Barton nodded in relief.

"Let me know if I need to sign anything for your school. Now about living accommodations," he carried. "I'm not intending to keep this house."

His tone was firm and final. Hermione had expected it. It didn't mean she felt upset about it.

"Couldn't you rent it?" she still asked. She didn't want to let go of the house she had grown it without attempting negotiations beforehand. "It's a nice place, and you could make an extra income."

Barton stared at her for a long time.

"I'll think about it," but he obviously wasn't keen on keeping it. "I have an apartment in New York. It's not big, but I have a room I can convert into a bedroom." Clint hesitated before adding. "Natasha –the woman you saw in Harrison's office –and I are…together. She has a spare key."

The way he spoke let her understand there was more than he was willing to share, but Hermione didn't push for it. So they basically lived together, she deduced, but not all the time. A little detail caught her attention.

"I thought her name was Natalie."

Clint gave her a crocked smile.

"Sorry, that's part of our job. I can't tell you more, so I'll ask you not to question further."

"Are you like spies or something?" Hermione asked anyway. "You make it sound like it's all very hush-hush."

"High-profile security business, kid." Clint replied with a shrug. "Most of our jobs are classified. So, what I can offer you is a place in New York during the holidays, while you return to school in England."

Hermione thought the change of subject was not subtle at all, but she nodded nonetheless. The deal suited her and if they were going to live together, she could always seek answers later. More importantly, she was grateful her uncle appeared rather flexible yet took their situation seriously. In a way, she supposed it arranged him that she remained in Scotland for school; he wouldn't have to keep an eye on her most of the time. She just hoped she could rely on him in time of need. Clint cleared his throat and she returned her attention on him.

"That's going to be the beginning of a lot of changes for both of us. I'm not telling you it's going to be easy, but I think we can make it if we work together." He said softly, sounding genuine and determined. "Deal?"

He extended his hand to her and this time she took it without hesitation.

* * *

Traveling to a foreign country had always been an adventure for Hermione. Her parents had brought her to several places and she had loved it. They had promised her they would travel to America one day, once she was older. Hermione never thought she'd actually go to the United States under these circumstances.

"You're all right?"

She glanced on the left, where Clint was standing close to her. Natasha and Hill had decided to stay behind a while longer to settle some business (_apparently Mr. Harrison was part of a drug ring, which was why they had come to England at first place; and they wanted her to get used to her new environment and having her uncle around. That fact alone convinced her they were actually secret police rather than working for a security company, no matter how high-profile they claimed it to be_) and Clint and her left the next day.

They had gone through customs, taken the plane and flown straight to New York. Clint had started snoring soon after take-off and left Hermione to dwell with her thoughts. Upon their arrival early in the afternoon, Clint had flashed a badge through security that had avoided them to go through customs again, and had avoided Crookshanks the customary forty-days-quarantine. The drive through the city had gone way too fast; her eyes wide open had taken in the skyscrapers, the atmosphere, the crowd…she felt like she had stepped in a whole different world.

Then, they had stopped at a tall habitation building. It didn't have an extraordinary façade, looked rather battered compared to others, but was exceptionally high in her mind.

"I hope you don't have vertigo." Clint said with a hint of a smile. "I live on the top floor."

Hermione grunted in return and cautiously picked up Crookshanks' transporting cage while Clint carried her two large suitcases to the elevator. Most of her school furniture had been shrunken by Hill and tucked in her pack of underwear. The teen didn't even want to picture how they would have transported her stuff from one place to another had the witch not been there. Just for that, she wished she could be seventeen already. The elevator led them to the thirtieth level and in a corridor with only two doors.

"The neighbors are an elderly couple from San Francisco. Usually quiet, and Mrs Miller's cookies are good." Clint offered as he opened the second door. "I'll get you a spare key first thing tomorrow."

Hermione looked around, a bit tired and cranky from the jetlag. Right past the front door was the living room, containing a large couch and a large TV and stereo. A library stood on the wall right next to a window giving on the street. She stepped further in the living room. An opening led to the kitchen while another brought her on three or four doors.

Clint dropped her luggage near the couch, making her jump. Crookshanks meowed in protest from having its cage shaken.

"Your room –future room – 's right there." He said, pointing a half-opened door. "You'll have to sleep on a mattress t'night and maybe tomorrow, but I'll get you a bed asap. My bedroom's just there," he added, motioning a door on his left. "Bathroom in the middle. I mostly use the apartment to crash between two assignments, so there's not much to see. Feel free to add your personal touch."

The decoration was definitively minimalist; no pictures or paintings or anything decorative was hung. Even hotel rooms had better ornaments. She peeked inside her future room. Rather empty, like the rest, aside from two large closets in the far end; smaller than her old room too, but big enough to be comfortable.

"I'll show you around the block the next few days. Maria might take a day to deal with the magical part. I'm not good with paperwork," he said with a sheepish smile. "So, what do you think of it?"

Hermione took a last glance around. It was a far cry from her home, but she could get used to it.

"It'll be fine," she assured him. She put down Crookshanks' cage and opened it. The cat hurriedly stormed out and ran into an adjacent room. Clint followed right away, certainly to make sure it wouldn't cause any damage. She entered her future bedroom and looked around, focusing on where she could stash her stuff. She would ask Clint if he couldn't get a smaller closet to put her clothes and a desk to work on. The bed, she decided, would be placed under the window. Her school furniture would fit on shelves in the left corner behind the entrance door and Crookshanks could have his own place to sleep next to it.

Hermione stepped closer to the nearest closet, briefly wondering what it contained. Since it wasn't properly locked, so she peeked inside. And let her jaw fall. She expected clothes, furniture, maybe even nothing, but not…

"Hey Hermione, do you want some-" Clint stepped in the room and stopped talking when he saw her staring at the contents of the innocent-looking closet.

Hermione glanced blankly at him and blurted the first thing that came to her mind.

"That's a _lot_ of guns."

* * *

**Hope you guys enjoyed it :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**First of all, huge apologies for the lateness! Lack of inspiration and other things in my mind did that…hopefully I won't take as long to update the next one ^^"**

**Thanks to:**

**Guest 1: **Hum…I'm not that far in the story yet. Right now, I'm just focusing on the summer time ^^¨ Thanks for the review!

**Guest 2: **me too ! :D Thanks for the review!

**Guest 3: **It was either Coulson or Hill, but I have a thing for Hill so Hill it is, sorry :P Thanks for the review!

**Linda: **whoever her boyfriend will be, it'll give Clint a headache xD Thanks for the review!

**Guest 4: **I know Hawkeye has a bow, but Natasha has guns. Since they sort of live together…you get the drift ^^

**Sir Jake English: **here it goes :)

**Guest 5: **I'm glad you like it so far :)

**Amberfox: **It was just regular correspondence, but I will show a few exchanged letters in the next chap.

**Red: **Glad you do! I'll definitely have some training in sight :)

**Guest 6: **Glad you do :)

**Guest 7: **Haha that might be something xD But I'm not that far in the story yet..sorry ^^"

**Hope I didn't forget anyone ^^" unbeta-ed work, so all mistakes are mine.**

**The Uncle From America**

**4**

_Clint pov_

The phone rang at five am. Clint picked up reluctantly, wishing that he could have one full night to himself. Maria had promised she'd secure a full week off-duty to set the pace with Hermione and give him time not to screw up (_because she had _that_ much faith in him_), and that she would herself stop by the next day in the late afternoon to take care of the 'magic stuff' since he didn't want to associate with that shit anytime soon.

(_Okay, maybe she hadn't worded it that way, but the intonation was clear. It somewhat intrigued him, because he might have suggested magic freaked him out, but he wasn't against a slow approach to it. He had that feeling Maria didn't like talking of magic, even less using it except apparently to zip his mouth. Maybe he could ask Natasha to dig on that trail. She was much better than him in subtle interrogation and Maria liked her more.)_

Clint glanced quickly at the number, which turned out untraceable. He wagered it to be Natasha, and picked up.

"'lo?"

"_You let her go through __**my **__**stack**__?" _

The sharp and biting tone promised retribution in case the question was answered positively. He bit back a groan and fell back on the mattress.

"Morning to you too Tasha."

"_Hill called me half an hour earlier. I have a solo starting today, and she asked what kind of munitions I left at your place. I'm taking a wild guess; your niece opened the closets?" _

"Hill is a tattle-tell, and no, I didn't let her go through your stack." Clint retorted petulantly. "She just looked, didn't touch anything."

"_I told you a hundred times to lock those damn things!"_ she sounded angry. The man winced, thinking he was good for the couch for a couple weeks. _"And Hill told me to remind you that Deputy Director does not mean 'call me every time you screw up and since you're a big man with big guns, you should handle that kind of situation on your own'."_

"I didn't screw up!" The heavy silence on the other line was loud of significance. "Fine, maybe I did a little. But I have everything under control."

"_Really_?" the sound of her voice was laced with doubt. He rolled his eyes.

"I handled it just fine. She asked a couple of questions, I told her that was our ammunition for emergency missions and she let it go. I even asked her if she wanted me to teach her how to shoot."

"_You are hopeless."_

"Hey, she agreed. I think she was more intrigued than freaked out actually. You said a solo mission?" he asked, changing subjects. "I thought we were-"

"_I'm off on a surveillance in Florida, it's just to keep busy."_ Natasha replied dryly. "_Maria doesn't think it's a good idea if the girl had to confront a pair of assassins at once. She claims I'm going to scare off the kid."_ Pause. _"I suspect her and Coulson to have money on how long it'll take before either you or your niece run away."_

Clint frowned, a thought crossing his mind.

"Does Coulson know about…" he trailed off, suddenly wondering if Maria had mentioned the magic to Natasha or was leaving him the honors. Back at the Grangers, Maria had showed up alone and let Natasha take care of Harrison with SHIELD. "You know what, never mind. How long will you be gone?"

"_About a week, maybe less depending on how fast I work."_ She sounded as annoyed as he felt. _"I have to go now."_

"I'll see you when you're back then," he replied. "Take care."

She hung up and Clint was left to stare at the ceiling. The first rays of daylight came through his curtains, lightening slightly the room. There was a crack up there, a bizarre kind of stain in the shape of an hourglass. Clint often stared at it when he started missing Natasha. It saddened and amused him all the same, how much of a sap he could be sometimes. Another glance at the clock and he figured he might as well get up. Hermione would probably stay a while longer in bed (he remembered how fast she fell asleep) but he had to draw a list of things to do to make his niece feel a little bit more welcomed. So he heated the water, took out two mugs and some coffee and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen to write everything down and make sure he wouldn't forget anything.

Crooshanks, much to his surprise, jumped on the table next to him and rubbed its head against his hand, demanding petting and attention. Clint chuckled and indulged the feline, one hand scratching its chin, the other putting a few words down.

He was still debating whether Hermione would need to flameproof her room for whenever she manipulated her potions or not _(her furniture was still shrunken, but he had seen bottles of various potions and a part of him had wondered if he truly wanted to know what the hell those things were for, and given Maria's raised eyebrows at time, he figured he didn't)_ when she emerged, hair in a mess and eyes still sleepy. Crooshanks' eyes narrowed and it purred louder. Hermione stared at her uncle, then the cat, and back at her uncle.

"He likes you," she stated, and Clint shrugged. He wasn't about to tell that he had been scratching her cat's back and chin for about two hours. "Crooshanks has good instincts when it comes to people," she added with a smile.

"Oh really? Why, is he magical?"

_(Although he'd keep that thought for himself because if the cat turned out to be magical, he had no idea what it could do, Clint thought it had an ugly face, like someone had smashed it against a wall. He liked its fur color though. It reminded him of Natasha's hair, that one time Jasper pulled a prank on her by switching her hair color product and to stop her from throttling him before he left on an important mission, he had brought her to his room and distracted her with-)_

"Not really." Hermione's voice interrupted him from lovely thoughts. "He's a half-Kneazle –I mean, they are really smart creatures. So actually, I guess you can say he has some magic."

Clint put down the pen and directed his full attention on her.

"So…what can it do? Aside from –uh –feeling people out?"

"Catch _very_ bad rats." She replied, biting back a smile at that thought. For some reason, Clint thought there was more than a pun lying behind her words and decided to play a hunch; this _was_ magic after all:

"So he caught the bad guy, eh? Was it someone who could change into a rat?" And given Hermione's surprised expression, he had aimed right. But a glint of unease crossed her eyes, so he decided to brush it off and investigate a bit later. "Cool. Maybe I should bring you with me at work. That would spare me some time deciding whether my _–clients_ –are idiots or not."

Hermione grimaced awkwardly and looked around the kitchen counter. It took Clint a few seconds to realize that she was hesitating on what to do.

"Just…help yourself with whatever suits you. Coffee's on the table, I got tea there," he waved towards a cupboard. "And waffles and stuff over there." He pointed another one. "Cutlery is in the upper left drawer."

"If I open the upper right one, will I find bullets or grenades?"

Clint couldn't help but smirk.

"Nah. Don't worry about that. Just make yourself some breakfast and we'll go shopping. I want your bedroom and other furniture selected and set by the end of tomorrow. And Maria's stopping by five pm, so we better get going soon. Sorry if I sound in a hurry, but I only got one week off and I'd rather have you settle before I got to return to work."

"It's fine," she assured him, hesitantly starting to go through the cupboard to fish out something eatable. She frowned when she pulled a box of muffins. "You knew the expiration date was from last month on this one?"

He hastily wrote 'groceries' at the bottom of the list.

* * *

Shopping was quickly done, much to his relief. Hermione had picked up her furniture in the first shop with ease, settling her eye on a simple bed with drawers underneath to stash her furniture, one practical closet for her clothes and an average-sized desk for her to work on. The whole was ordered to be delivered in the evening. They stopped to make a double of his apartment key and also bought sheets and a few extra necessities –soap, shampoo, hairbrush, and toothbrush. They spent more time in the animal shop to buy the basics for Crooshanks. Since Hermione had come from England, he took her a cell phone –actually, two; a fancy one and a basic one, in case the fancy one broke down or got lost.

They had a late lunch at Olive Garden before heading to a Walmart to pick up proper food for the evening. When they returned to the apartment, the clock was ticking near four, which left him about an hour before Maria showed up. So they cleaned her room and he pushed the weapon-filled closets in the living room. He'd have to find another place, or hide them in the sofa or make other arrangements in the apartment, like a hidden panel in the wall or something. Hermione wasn't a two year old with grabby hands, but nearly all weapons were loaded in case of emergency and he really didn't want to suffer Natasha's ire if she became too curious. He was even lucky she didn't open _his_ closet, where he hid his three favorite bows and arrows.

Clint was reflecting on where he'd hide his and Natasha's stack from now on when he heard someone knock at the door. A quick glance through the peephole and he recognized his boss' familiar figure. Hermione was back in the living room, attempting to put the bright red collar around Crooshanks' neck. While Clint had no problem letting the cat wander around as long as it kept clean, he didn't want it to be mistaken for a stray. The collar had been the compromise.

"Welcome to my humble house," Clint said with an exaggerated salute. Maria rolled her eyes and stepped in. She was in a black pair of jeans and blue top. She had let her hair down, probably because it made her features softer.

"I won't take long," she informed him and added before he could ask: "And yes, it will be better if you stay."

And she headed straight to the living room. Clint took a deep breath before joining them. Fortunately, Hermione appeared rather happy to see Maria, if only because she cancelled the spell on her magical furniture. They ran over the basics, covered Hermione's legal living in the US, created a social security number, talked about opening an account in a bank and convert half of her parents' money in dollars so she would actually have a financial support in case.

Questions like the use of magic in America, correspondence transatlantic, and potential summer classes came after. Clint abandoned them at this point to welcome the furniture delivery and helped the guys put everything in the elevator. He then worked on building the bed, the closet and the rest while Crooshanks kept a watchful eye on him from the top of his cat tree. He could still hear Maria and Hermione talk in the living room but not their conversation.

At some point, the cat jumped on the floor and sat in front of him, his head tilted on the side, feline eyes intensely fixed on him. Clint stared back.

"Whadd'ya want Crook?" The cat blinked, as if startled by the new nickname _(Crooshanks was a mouthful, Crook somehow sounded better)_, but eventually liked its lips. "Oh, you're hungry? Weeell I think the cat food is in the kitchen." The cat stood on its four legs and trotted towards the door. Once at the threshold, it stopped and turned its head over the shoulder and meowed impatiently.

Clint rolled his eyes and followed, somewhat amused to be bossed around by a cat of all things. But as he left the room for the kitchen, Maria called him.

"Barton, come here a sec."

The man grumbled something and walked back in the living room. Crooshanks grunted and reluctantly followed.

"Got papers to sign?" he asked.

Maria stood up, so did Hermione.

"I'll go feed Crooshanks," she volunteered, and disappeared in the kitchen, quickly joined by an impatient furry fellow. Maria waited until she was gone to turn towards him.

"We had a talk. Hermione will subscribe to a couple of summer classes, so she won't wallow all day in your apartment but you'll have to deal with transportation. Also, you might want to know minors are allowed to practice magic as long as people who aren't aware of it aren't in sight. Will that be a problem?"

Clint frowned. He'd need to discuss a few things with Hermione once Maria was gone.

"We'll figure out something. Who else knows about magic in SHIELD? Did you tell Tasha?"

She evaluated him quickly.

"Fury, the head section of 8-0-4. Coulson suspects, but he's only level 8 and yes, I demonstrated to Natasha. Speaking of which, you are both scheduled to have a one-on-one with me next week. It was the condition for the Widow not to freak out," Hill muttered reluctantly. "That, and give me some time to practice again."

"Why, you're out of shape?" he asked teasingly.

Hill sent him a flat stare.

"I haven't used a wand for duels or battle in years. And I don't want you to kill me by accident." She corrected the angle of her handbag over her shoulder. "I'll see you Monday at 0800."

And she left promptly, without waiting for his goodbye and he headed towards the kitchen. Hermione was running her hand down Crooshanks back while it ate and jumped slightly when she realized he was standing next to her. She looked tired, he reflected. Probably due to the jetlag and all the events gone in the past two days. She was still a kid, he reflected, even though at her age he was completing his training and showing off at the circus.

"You okay?" he asked. "It went fine with Maria?"

She gave him an uncertain smile.

"Yeah, no problem. Can we go through the details later? I'm a bit tired."

She was avoiding the discussion, but Clint would let it slide for tonight.

"We'll talk about that tomorrow. And then I'll show you how to shoot." He added with a crocked smile, hoping it would loosen up the building tension.

"Sure," she replied, and he was glad to realize she sounded genuine. "Thank you, for the…" she waved in her bedroom's direction. "I'm sorry I didn't help more."

"No bother. You can make dinner while I finish it if you want."

* * *

"So are you going to contact your friends by the normal means, or will you use an owl?"

Hermione smiled a little and dug her fork into the noodles. She had kept it simple, Mac and Cheese and a steak. They had started eating in silence, but Clint figured if he wanted to know more about his niece, he would have to work a bit. Hermione didn't appear to be the kind of girl who would voluntarily offer information. Starting with her friends sounded like a good way to get an idea of her lifestyle.

"The two friends I have use owls for communication," she explained. "Harry lives with his aunt and uncle, but he uses Hedwige –the white owl you saw in my living room. I send him a message, to tell him I was moving to the US. And Ron is a wizard, so he wouldn't know how to use muggle posting. I mean, normal posting."

Clint frowned.

"'Muggle'? Is that the term you use for non-magical people? It's the second time you let it slip."

Hermione nodded meekly.

"Dad was a bit offended whenever I used it." she explained. "He said it was as if I was feeling superior to him."

Clint 'hummed' as he thought. The word didn't sound particularly insulting to him. But then again, in his memories, Barney liked having control over things. That he was considered different from his own daughter might have unnerved him.

"I see," he just said. "So tell me more about your friends. Did you get to see them this summer? Did you meet them at school?"

Hermione nodded and looked slightly more comfortable.

"I met them in the train leading to school, back in my first year. I was looking for Neville's toad –his pet toad. Neville is a classmate, a little distracted and he had lost it. But I didn't really talk to them till I…" she suddenly hesitated : "I got into trouble and they helped me out. We became friends after that."

Clint frowned, feeling she was skipping a lot off important details.

"What kind of trouble exactly?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Nothing life-endangering!" she assured him a little too quickly. Clint put down his own fork and crossed his arms. They exchanged a fierce battle of stare, which she eventually lost by lowering her eyes. "I was in the restroom and there was a troll. Harry and Ron knocked him out. That was it."

"A _troll_?" Clint blurted in disbelief. "Like a huge ugly thing with a mace? And that was wandering in the school filled with _children_? Does that kind of stuff happen often?"

Hermione had eyes wide open, like a deer caught in headlights. The man was about to question her further when she interrupted:

"It's getting late," she babbled. "I'll just go to bed."

With a speed he hadn't suspected from her, she took her plate and escaped to the sink to put the unfinished food in a Tupperware and clear her dish. Clint stared at her in disbelief until she disappeared in her bedroom.

"We will have a serious talk about this, Hermione." He warned, firmly decided to learn more about that school. "Don't think you'll escape it!"


End file.
